Love, Jealousy, and Broken Hearts
by romancewithexplosions
Summary: Ron and Hermione finally admit their interest in each other, but Harry, in love with Hermione and burned by a failed relationship with the double-crossing Cho Chang, swells with jealousy. Rated for language, violence, and sexual implications.
1. Prologue

This is my first fanfic story, so be gentle, please, with your criticism. Please make it constructive. Just an added note: I'm a HOPELESS romantic. In all aspects of the word.  
  
Prologue  
"My God, Ron, I feel like I'm going to die," Hermione said, struggling for breath. Blood, dried and dirty, caked her legs. The creature, whatever it was, was dead, stabbed multiple times by Ron. Its great purple tongue hung out of its mouth, blood, ruby-red, still coming forth from the puncture wound (Ron assumed) to its lung.  
"What was that, Ron? I've read so many books on magical creatures; this has never been in any of them."  
"I dunno. But we'd better get out of here before some of its friends come along," Ron said, standing up, supporting Hermione, who was leaning heavily on him. A gash, at least three inches long, and quite deep, ran along the back of her leg, bleeding profusely.  
"I was so stupid, going out into the marshlands without my wand. Thank goodness you came. I'd have died otherwise," she said.  
"Luck, purely luck," Ron brushed off the compliment as nothing. Hermione had just been unlucky. She'd saved him more. "We'd better get you back to the Burrow real soon. You're pale as a ghost; you've lost a lot of blood."  
Suddenly reminded of a man's duty, he ripped the sleeve of his shirt and wrapped it around her wound. Realizing it wouldn't help much, he shed his entire shirt (he wasn't that conservative anyway) and tied it securely around the wound.  
Hermione fainted from the pain. She'd been fighting it for twenty minutes already; she couldn't take it anymore.  
Adrenaline was pumping through Ron's veins. Normally, he'd have panicked at the sight of one of his best friends fainting, but there was no drug to compare with adrenaline. Without hesitation, he picked her up, carrying her in his strong arms back home, dreading the worry of his mother, the next few days of punishment, and most of all, worried about Hermione.  
  
Okay, tell me if that's even worth continuing. Gently, though. If it does continue, don't worry, there will be romance. I just like to take things a bit slow at first. 


	2. At the Burrow

At The Burrow  
  
Ron had to stop after an hour or so. Hermione was dead weight and he had already tired out from fighting...whatever it was. She had awoken once, and offered to walk, but Ron didn't want to see her hurt.  
Dawn was breaking; fog spread over the marshlands that were slowly turning to the forests surrounding his house. Doubtless his mother was up, fretting over his and Hermione's safety. He'd left shortly after dinner, when he'd seen Hermione fall apart over something. Ron still didn't know what it was. He intended to find out, though Once Hermione was rested and her gash tended to, he'd talk to her.  
Oh no, he thought, as he saw a dark figure with greasy black hair standing in front of his house. It was Snape, looking sour-tempered and extremely furious at Hermione and Ron. He swallowed.  
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Snape inquired, using that quiet voice of his that always meant he was livid. "Look at the both of you. You're filthy, and you've managed to get Miss Granger all bloodied up. You're mum'll give it to you, though. Hopefully she'll make you clean the attic...I'm getting rather tired of all the spiders crawling around where I sleep." He leaned his face up close to Ron's, so that he could smell the stink of his breath and feel the anger emanating from him. Ron shuddered, hoping cleaning the attic bedroom (they had recently evicted the ghoul) was not his punishment. He hated spiders.  
"Love to talk, Professor," he said as casually as he could, "But Hermione's leg needs tending. Can we talk about this later?"  
"Don't look so unconcerned, Weasley, your mum is at her wit's end with you and your little friends."  
Ron ignored him. He was probably giving Harry a much harder time, and Harry already had enough to cope with, what with the loss of Sirius and all. The Order still mainly resided there, but the Weasleys had been homesick and Snape was in trouble, so they had been told by Dumbledore that going back to the Burrow was best. Dumbledore was its secret keeper as well, so they'd had to do a lot of complicated spells on it lately so that Dumbledore could keep an eye on them.  
Mrs. Weasley came out, looking tired but still flushed with extreme anger. When she saw Hermione, she let out a small little scream.  
"Ronald Weasley! What on earth is going on? What have you done to Hermione?"  
"It's a long story, Mum," he said. "I'll tell you later; right now, Hermione needs some help with her leg."  
"It's not much," said Hermione, awake, though her face told of great pain: it was strained and quite pale. "Just a cut."  
"It's more than a cut, Mum, there's a gash along her leg."  
Mrs. Weasley looked at them sternly. "Come on, in the house. We'll see to her, and then," she turned to Ron, "We're going to have a LONG talk. Not just about this. I got your O.W.L. scores."  
Ron's stomach plummeted. He hadn't done well on them, then. He should have studied more.  
Grimly, Snape trailing along behind them, a smile playing around his mouth, the four of them trod back up to the house. 


	3. The Wrath of Mrs Weasley

The Wrath of Mrs. Weasley  
  
"Come on, dear," Mrs. Weasley coaxed to Hermione, who had insisted she was able to walk herself, though Ron had to support her. "Let's sit you down. No, I don't need to know anything right now," she added, as Hermione opened her mouth to explain. "Just relax."  
She set the wounded leg tenderly on a chair opposite the girl and performed a simple Cleaning Charm on it before wrapping it in bandages. "I won't try to heal it right now; it'll take too much out of you. We'll save that for when you're well rested. Ron, I have some sleeping potion in the cupboard; pour some in a glass and take it up to her room, would you? There's a dear." She shot a fiery glance at his back. "We'll talk about you when Hermione's asleep. Now come on, love, let's get you resting properly. You can tell me what happened tomorrow."  
Mrs. Weasley hobbled up the stairs, Hermione's arm draped over her shoulder, her leg sagging limply, after Ron, whose ears were redder than Hermione had ever seen them before. His friend felt a sense of pity for him; Molly Weasley's wrath was more famous than Fred and George's mischief; but then, she told herself, Ron did bring it on himself, and apart from that, it wasn't her business anyway. A feeling a bit like the one at the Yule Ball seared her heart for a moment, but she shoved it away; her mind had more power than her heart. Besides, Ron hated her so much that he couldn't possibly return those feelings. Ever. She remembered the way he had so gently carried her all the way back to his house. No, she told herself, you're being ridiculous and naïve. Remember what happened to Lavender when she had that crush on Seamus? She was sure he returned the feeling, but he never did. Poor Lavender had been devastated. That would not happen to her.  
Hermione fell into bed, Ron pressing the foul-tasting potion to her lips, his eyes not meeting her own. He was too ashamed. Good, he should be.  
  
A feeling of dread settled itself in Ron's stomach. God, he was going to get an ulcer from his mother's wrath. She was looking daggers at him, glaring at him from the kitchen counter, while he sat, like a prisoner being interrogated, flat against the back of his chair at the table.  
"Six O.W.L.s, Ron!" she screeched (She had put a sound barrier around the kitchen before she had started on him; that was how he had known he was in for it). "SIX! That's only HALF of what Hermione got, and even Harry got ten! Couldn't you have at least tried a bit, Ron? Just for my sake, and your father's? I haven't told him yet. When he finds out, he'll be bloody FURIOUS!"  
"I still did better than Fred or George, though, and you weren't so mad at them," he muttered. It was best to keep his voice down during times like this, or the whole house would explode.  
"Oh, and that's SUCH a good thing! We expect more from you, Ron! Fred and George have always been like that! You are a Prefect! You should KNOW better! Do you want to end up running a joke shop when you grow up?"  
"They're not doing so bad," he said reasonably. "And they're having loads of fun inventing new stuff."  
"They at least got good marks in Charms! You only did well in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology and things you'll hardly ever need!"  
"You haven't any idea what I want to be, Mum!" he countered. "How can you tell me what I'll need? You've got this whole plan for me, don't you? Your last son. Well, I might not follow that plan, and you'll just have to get used to it!"  
Ron stormed out of the kitchen, breaking the sound barrier furiously, before running out to the gardens, where he would at least have time to think.  
  
He paced around the yard for fifteen minutes before he finally sat on a rock, head in his hands. His mother could afford to lose the tension. He was sure she was going to become so wound up one of these days that she wouldn't be able to get out of bed.  
He had lied, sort of, to her before stalking out. Even he didn't know what he was going to be when he left Hogwarts. McGonagall had suggested being a Magical Law Enforcement officer at the Ministry, or, like his father, part of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Though being in law enforcement did slightly draw his interest, he had never really thought of it. Always of being an Auror, and after the end of last year, he never wanted to see Dark magic again.  
His thoughts were drawn once more to Hermione. Why couldn't he stop thinking about her? She was a bossy know-it-all who had constantly been at odds with him for the past five years. It was just male hormones. He'd like any girl he could get, so why did he have to think about her?  
She's sleeping right now, he thought. You could just watch her. Ginny and Harry are out at the Quidditch pitch right now with Charlie; no one would disturb you.  
Before he could stop himself, he was going though the back door, charging right towards Hermione and Ginny's room. Just five minutes. Then he'd feel better. Just five minutes.  
  
That's my next chapter, for you. If I don't get some reviews (come on, two is meagre) by the end of this week there'll be no update for awhile. Heehee!!! 


	4. Rejection

Sorry, forgot to put the disclaimer at the start of the story; here it is: All characters and names copyright J.K. Rowling. Only the plot of this story is mine. And by the way, if I was making money off it, I'd be living in Edinburgh, rolling in the dough. Okay? Obviously I'm not.  
  
Rejection  
  
...Just five minutes...Ron repeated these words to himself as he climbed the stairs to the landing of Ginny's room. The door was shut; he opened it anyway.  
Hermione looked so peaceful, her hair dishevelled, lying across the white pillow. Her leg had been propped up at the end of the camp bed, keeping the pain to a minimum. The steady rise and fall of her chest was calming. He sat there, watching; entranced just by her. She'd never like him, but he could still have his fantasies, couldn't he?  
Ron leaned over to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face. She gasped and grasped his hand.  
"Holy Jesus!" Her eyes were wide, her hand gripping his wrist painfully. "Ron! What are you doing here? You scared the shit outta me!"  
"Hermione, easy!" he said, trying to catch his own breath. "I just came up to check on you. You doing all right?"  
"I was," she said, a bit of an edge to her voice. "Until you came in and woke me up. And after what you did, you deserved it."  
"Hermione," Ron said, exasperated. "What the hell are you talking about? What happened in the marshes?"  
"YES!"  
"Hey, I came after you, not the other way around."  
"I could have handled it myself."  
"Yeah," Ron snorted. "You could've handled it right well in the belly of that...thing. Or worse."  
"You shouldn't have told those men what you did. They'll come after you."  
"Muggles with guns? God, I'm scared. And can you please let go of my wrist now? I'll end up with bruises. I'd prefer not to have to tell Harry or Ginny that I got them from you."  
Grudgingly, Hermione released her hold on him.  
"What were you doing in the marshes anyway?" she demanded.  
Ron was slightly taken aback. "What?"  
"You heard me."  
Ron's ears went pink. I wanted to see if you were meeting that...Krum, he thought to himself, though he didn't voice it. Yeah, I'm a jealous, stocking prat. Got what you wanted now?  
"I was...er..." God, what was he supposed to tell her? "Erm...I was...sleepwalking." Sleepwalking? What is the matter with you, Weasley? Is that the very best you can come up with?  
"I see," said Hermione skeptically. "And do you typically sleepwalk three miles away from your house at four in the morning?"  
"No," Ron admitted. "But I did tonight. Do you have any idea why Harry and Ginny are in the Quidditch enclosure at..." he glanced at his watch, "Half-past six in the morning?"  
Hermione rolled her eyes. God, her eyes were...Watch it, Weasley, you're being stupid...  
"Practising Quidditch?" Hermione suggested sarcastically. "Ron, Harry would never do anything that would make you hurt him, if that's what you're worried about. He's too smart for that. And Ginny...what, do you think she's a – " she spat out the next word like the disgusting curse it was – "whore – " she shuddered – "or something? Honestly, Ron, you don't think much of your sister, do you? She's a big girl, she can stand up for herself, don't you think?"  
"Er..." Ron was flabbergasted. Hermione was certainly more chipper than she should be, having had a sleeping potion a mere half hour ago. "Hermione, did you really take that potion? The sleeping potion?"  
"No, Ron, I didn't. I'm not stupid."  
"What, did you think I was trying to poison you?"  
"No. I just need to think. And stop changing the subject, you bloody bastard."  
"Hermione!"  
"Well, that's what you're being," she said matter-of-factly. "Now, if you've nothing else to say to me, you git, go down, have breakfast, and talk to me later. I've got a lot of thinking I need to do. A lot. And I think I might have some material for my essay in Defence Against the Dark Arts, what with this whole event. If not that class, Care of Magical Creatures, surely. Now would you be so kind as to leave?" She turned away from him, face to the wall.  
He moved to the door, muttering quietly, "I don't think Ginny's a whore, you know, and I do trust Harry."  
"Get out, Ron, and shut the door after you."  
What's got Hermione in such a bloody hellish mood? Ron wondered as he closed the door with a soft click behind himself. She nearly gets assaulted and all she can think about is a goddamn essay? What is wrong with the girl? Though he hated to admit it, Hermione was being a bit too Hermione- like to be normal just now. Normal for Hermione, that was. Good God, he wasn't making sense. He was crazy to think she would ever like him, well, that way, especially when she so obviously hated him as it was. 


	5. The Marshlands

The Marshland(5)  
  
Hermione did feel a bit guilty about the way she had treated Ron, but honestly, he thought she was a stupid "damsel in distress". He should never think that. And the way he had talked about Ginny...No, the way you talked about Ginny, she told herself. You, Hermione Granger, hardly gave him a chance to speak on the matter. Shame made her face flush, and she plunged it into the pillow, the cotton of its case warming with the heat. Don't think about that, she chided herself. Ron just doesn't know what's good for him. There are more important things than worrying about Ronald Weasley, and you'd better realise that soon. Still, her face refused to lose its pink colour, and she gave up on it, rolling herself back, closing her eyes, and falling into a vivid dream.  
  
She'd been walking for almost an hour now, just trying to get her thoughts straight. She felt crowded at the Weasleys', which she had never felt before, and memories of that fateful night when Harry had discovered the Prophecy kept filling her thoughts. What did it all mean?  
The squish of a boot, not her own, made her stop abruptly and spin round. God, Hermione, she thought to herself, you may be at the Weasleys', but the Muggle world still exists. You should know better than to go wandering about in the dark. A man (Muggle, obviously; probably from the neighbouring village) was pointing a pistol straight at the back of her skull. Dammit, she cursed herself, where is a wand when you need it?  
"You got anything on you, bitch?" said the man, his face menacing. "Tell me now, or this here bullet goes straight through your brains, and I get it anyway."  
Trembling, Hermione took the locket, a gift from Ron and Harry for her birthday, from her neck. It was solid gold, and had a tiny diamond in the centre. It was supposed to remind her of their unwavering loyalty to her; or rather, to her intelligence.  
"Well?" The man held out his hand, her own poised to drop it onto his calloused palm, when a sharp cry rent the silence of the night.  
"Hermione! What the hell is going on?" It was Ron. Though she would likely never admit it to anyone, the sight of him was the best thing she had seen. The wand he held in his hand was like a saviour to her.  
Ron pointed his wand to the man's throat. "Hand over that gun now, you sonofabitch, or I'll blast your head off now."  
It was the mugger's turn to tremble now, as he dropped the metal weapon into the green muck and shoved it to the side. Ron picked it up and, without hesitation, shot the man, point-blank, in the head.  
"That bloke committed two Muggle murders; he deserved to die anyway," he said as Hermione flinched. "Here, let me help you – "  
He never got to finish that sentence. The shot had awoken a greenish giant he didn't recognise, and the creature splashed through the swamps, advancing toward them with every second.  
"Shit!" Ron swore, as he found the chamber to be empty when he tried to fire the pistol again. Pulling a switchblade from his boot, he lunged at the thing just as it went for Hermione. She screamed and clutched the locket tightly in her palm. Its blackish-blue claws scraped against her knee, and she cried out in pain. Ron then performed a manoeuvre quite like the one in the girls' lavatory in their first year – without the hovering charm. Jumping on its shoulders, wand thrown aside and forgotten (besides, even in this sort of situation, he didn't want to be a carbon-copy of Harry in his fifth-year summer, with the Ministry taking him to court and all) he held his dagger in his fist, and leapt onto the back of the monster, plunging it deep into what he knew was a lung. The creature would die a slow and painful death, but for now, he would be able to watch the blood flow from its mouth, and feel the adrenaline pumping through his own veins.  
"It's okay, Hermione," Ron said. She replied vaguely, and everything went black, the golden locket still clutched tightly in her palm.  
  
Hermione sat up in bed, gasping. Sweat was soaking her brow, and the bright yellow sunlight of high noon in summer was pouring through the window. Lying slowly back down, she clutched at the locket, which now hung safely around her own neck again. She had lied to Ron when she had acted as though the incident was not a worthwhile incident to remember. She would remember it, always.  
Ron walked in then, obviously alerted by her cries in her sleep.  
"Everything all right, Hermione?" he asked, a look of concern lining his countenance. "I thought I heard something."  
"I'm fine, Ron, perfectly fine," she replied, a bit more scathingly than she had intended.  
"All right, Hermione, keep your hair on," said Ron, looking like he dreaded another verbal attack like the one she had delivered him five hours earlier. And, quite frankly, she didn't blame him.  
"Look, Ron – "  
"No, Hermione," he said, his voice detached. "It's okay. I understand that you don't want my help."  
"Ron – "  
"Lunch is ready, Mum said to tell you. She still's angrier than ever at me. I wouldn't cross her if I were you."  
"Ron, I'm sorry about earlier..."  
"Yeah, I know," he said, looking quite unemotional and at the same time, begrudged. "Look, we'll talk about it later, okay? I'm not really in the mood to be flown at for helping you right now." He turned his back, clearly ending the conversation there, and closed the door after him.  
He didn't forgive her. That was it.  
  
Ron stormed out the door, still moody. Why did girls always have to be so off-the-handle at simple things?  
He bumped into Harry on the way down the stairs.  
"Hey, what were you and my sister up to at the enclosure today?" he tried to keep his voice neutral.  
"Playing Quidditch, Ron, why? Did you want to join us? We're going back out after lunch – "  
"Listen," Ron said. "I don't mean to sound accusing or anything, but if you lay a hand on my sister...well, I'd hate to kill you, but I want you to leave her alone."  
"Ron, nothing's happening. How's Hermione?"  
"Fine," Ron said guardedly. "Why do you ask?"  
"Look, she's my friend, too. It's not illegal to worry about her, especially if something's happened back in the marsh."  
"Well, she's fine, she says, and she wants us to leave her alone."  
"Hello, Ron," said a cool voice from behind them. "Harry," Hermione said, slightly warmer. "You lot going to lunch?"  
"Hermione, we're sixteen-year-old boys. Where else would we be going at noon?" Harry joked, trying to lighten the mood slightly.  
"Well, let's go, then," she said. "It smells great."  
Even after lunch was over, the kitchen was cleaned, her leg re- bandaged, and her spirits brighter, Hermione hardly spoke to Ron at all. 


	6. Confessions

Confessions  
  
Dinner that night was almost completely silent. Snape looked furious at the fact that Hermione and Ron hadn't gotten into more trouble. No one wanted to ask about their adventure, and in any case, neither Ron nor Hermione felt like talking about it. Harry, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley were perhaps the only ones that talked throughout the entire meal. Harry told her of his new Quidditch training plan (he had recently been made Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor; this made him feel slightly better about not being made prefect the year before) but soon conversation wore thin, and the table fell silent.  
  
Hermione found herself outside Ron and Harry's room about an hour after dinner. Ron had said they would talk later. Well, now was later. They would talk now.  
  
She knocked timidly; half-expecting there would be no answer, and knowing it would be a difficult conversation. Well, she had made her bed, now she had to lay in it. Seeing that there was no answer, she almost left.  
  
"Mum, I don't want dumb hand-me-downs from Percy – Hermione." His voice suddenly turned cold, his ears beneath his red hair pink. "What do you want now?"  
  
"I want to finish that chat of ours."  
  
"Well, I'll leave the two of you to it, then," said Harry, who had been sitting on his bed, writing what was presumably another essay. "I really don't want to be caught in the middle of another row between you lot. Let me know when you're done, won't you?" he said, getting up, grabbing his quill, ink, and parchment, and leaving, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Look, Ron," Hermione began.  
  
"Got that essay for Care of Magical Creatures written yet?" Ron sneered. "That's all you see this event as, isn't it? Material for school. Forget about the fact that there could be more of them, forget about the safety of my family. I've never understood that about you, Hermione. Never."  
  
"Ron, I was never going to write a bloody essay, okay? I just didn't want you thinking I was soft."  
  
"You? Soft?" Ron laughed, a somewhat mad laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. "Hermione, you are not soft. What were you thinking? I've known you since you wanted me to say that spell to turn Pettigrew yellow. You were stubborn even then, and you're more stubborn now. I know you're not soft. It's fine to be emotional every once in a while."  
  
Hermione became keenly aware that the conversation had turned to a point that she really didn't want to be at right now. "Well, if that's understood, I'll leave, then."  
  
"'Night."  
  
"'Night."  
  
Hermione left, shutting the door behind her. Ron stood for a while, shocked by Hermione's admittance, and then a thought came to him: did Hermione and I just have a civilised conversation? Our first one since the train home? He halted himself there; Don't get too used to it; you're sure to be in another row with her by sundown tomorrow. Like it, perhaps, but don't get used to it. That's the way life is. The way things go.  
  
"Hullo, Ron," said Harry. Ron jumped; he had been so deeply immersed in his own thoughts that he hadn't even noticed Harry enter his room. He was sitting at his desk, looking completely at home, quill once more in hand.  
  
"Harry! Don't do that again."  
  
"Oh god, this is the bloke who went with me to the Mysteries Department. You're just too...pensive, Ron. You and Hermione get everything sorted out already?" When Ron nodded, Harry said, "Well, that was fast. Usually you two stay pissed at each other for weeks." He suddenly turned to Ron, a sly, suspecting look on his countenance, his brow furrowed slightly. "You got a thing for her, mate?"  
  
"No!" Ron denied it as easily as drawing a breath. Okay, so maybe I find her attractive, but Harry doesn't need to know that.  
  
This was obviously too quick of a response to be completely true. "You sure? You've been acting weird 'round her lately."  
  
"Just worried about her, I guess."  
  
"Worried?"  
  
"Well, after last night in the marshes..." his voice trailed away, and he turned his face away, suddenly quite interested in a squirrel (with, admittedly, a very odd sleeping pattern seeing as it was quarter-past ten) that was trying desperately to crack an acorn fallen from a nearby tree.  
  
Harry sensed a tender topic, and decided to leave the discussion where it was.  
  
"Erm, why don't you go for a walk? You do look a bit off-colour, mate."  
  
"Yeah, I think I will."  
  
Ron suddenly got up, putting a blade in his boot, just in case one of those creatures came back.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Just...be careful around Hermione, all right? She seems a bit...strange lately."  
  
"Sure." 


	7. Prologue to Moonlight

Prologue to Moonlight

(I am not much of a poet, so forgive me for this feeble attempt)

_As the sun departs_

_Leading from sunset to dusk_

_It takes with it hearts_

_And turns blue to rust._

_The moon slowly rises_

_As night's blackness falls_

_A veil for its guises_

_Answering the moon's calls._

_Full and as round_

_As the forest's sweet fruits_

_With it mysteries abound_

_As the sunlight dilutes._

_The moon shines pearly white_

_A majestic, milky glow,_

_Lighting the blackness of the night_

_Forbidding to any foe._

_The light of the orb_

_Whitens rivers and lakes_

_But dark forests absorb_

_The mysteries it makes._

_For the trees shield the floor_

_From any sort of hope_

_Resenting what the moon bore_

_Instead, clinging to their short rope._

_And lovers walking_

_Down moonlit paths_

_See white light soaking_

_Its stones in the moon's baths._

_For the moon brightens the world_

_Amidst its darkest times_

_Offering hope during quarrels_

_And lessening its crimes._

_So as the moon leaves_

_Putting out light's flame_

_The sky the sun cleaves_

_Bringing with it hope just the same._


	8. Moonlight

Moonlight

Hermione was feeling quite downtrodden by now. Why couldn't she simply admit her feelings? Would it endanger their friendship? _Yes,_ she thought, _it might. I couldn't bear to lose Ron as a friend. To lose someone who has so many times helped _me. _If he doesn't feel the same way…everything will simply be awkward between the two of us. That wouldn't do._

Slowly, she walked to the window, peering through. She was startled to see Ron down at the lake that resided in the Weasleys' backyard. He stood with his back to her and the house, apparently gazing out over it. She couldn't stand him this way. She retrieved her cloak from its hook by the bedroom door and ran out into the yard. It was time to finish their little chat.

Ron always felt at peace when he went into their backyard, especially down at the lake. Everything was still. There were no expectations for him to be perfect like Percy, and, most especially, no Hermione to nag him.

Just as he finished this thought, footsteps behind him told Ron that he had company. Damnit.

"Hermione, what on earth do you want now?" he asked, unable to suppress the annoyed tones of his voice.

"Ron, we still need to talk."

"We already talked. I'm done."

She came up beside him. "You look cold. Here," she said, spreading her cloak so it covered the both of them.

"I'm _not_ cold," he replied, but took it anyway.

"Ron, what has been happening to you? Every time I even come close to you, you seem like you're pushing me away. If you're mad about the whole event that happened yesterday, I'd understand. But you haven't even mentioned that. What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, come on, Ron, it's _not_ nothing."

"Look," he said, facing her at last. "I thought _you _were avoiding _me._"

"I wasn't.'

"Hermione," he brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face. "I just…I don't want to lose you again. I don't want to get hurt."

"Who said I was going anywhere?"

Harry watched the scene below, unbeknownst to his friends. Was there really something going on between them? It wasn't like he'd never expected it, but it unnerved him, somehow. He was jealous, though he'd only admit it to himself. While Voldemort started taking over the world and killing people, his godfather, even, Ron and Hermione were getting romantically involved. This was all wrong. He needed Hermione more than Ron did. Why didn't _he_ get her?

Ron was now keenly aware of Hermione's deep brown eyes and how he was so close to her. To distract himself from something shameful, he said, "Do you promise me this?"

"Ron, I cannot promise you anything. Everyone knows that Voldemort…"

"…is unpredictable. I know. Will you at least promise me that you will _try_ to stay out of trouble?"

"Yes," she replied. "I can promise that much."

She buried her head into the crook of his neck, and, impulsively, he kissed her crown. "I'll try to do my best to protect you, Hermione."

"Who said I would be the one needing protecting?" she said, her head still buried comfortably on his shoulder. "It'll most likely be you, not me."

"Well, will you promise to protect me?"

"To the death."

Ron was now fully aware of how close they were. "Hermione," he whispered, lifting his chin from atop her head.

She seemed to know, as well as he did, what was coming. Slowly, their eyes met, and ever slowly, their lips did the same. It was gentle, not demanding, but almost hesitant. There was no question, however, that they belonged there,

Harry was now trembling with rage. He wasn't even sure why he was so furious. _Honestly,_ the rational part of him said, _is it so wrong that they're together now? Do you have to have everything and more than Ron does?_

He might be irrational, but he was now plunging into full-blown jealousy.


	9. Hermione's Lament

Harry didn't speak to Ron at all that night, or at dawn when they both arose early to practise Quidditch. He zoomed away on his Cleansweep 9 before Harry could talk to him, thereby confirming Harry's suspicions that Ron was keeping the relationship between him and Hermione from him. Harry was burning with questions to ask Ron; at least, that was what he told himself. If he was completely honest, however, he would love the chance to fight with Ron, to expel all his jealousy that Ron was so lucky and he was not. True, he got a lot of attention from the wizarding world, but Ron was welcome to it, if he wanted it. What was Ron the one who got everything, and he, Harry, had not loving family nor a full heart? After all, his heart had been broken by Cho.

Hermione avoided Ron all morning, though Ginny gave her strange looks for it. She holed herself up in her room, reading her books for the next term, writing essays, and generally isolating herself from the Weasleys and Harry.

How would Harry react when he learned about Ron and her being together? Given his unpredictable temper, he would probably be furious at them. Lose it completely. Did she really need that? No, but all the same, Harry deserved to know.

But wasn't she getting to be a bit faster than events that gave her cause? After all, she hadn't discussed _anything_ with Ron. Maybe he had been insane, or at least _thought_ he had been, to kiss her at all. _She_ had certainly been mad to do something like that uninvited, hadn't she?

_Oh, the agonies of it!_ She thought, burying her face into a pillow (the parchment crinkling as she did so; _damn! My essays won't be so neat!_). Why couldn't Ron come in and discuss this whole thing with her? She was so bloody confused about…everything. Harry, him, her, Ron and her…

God, she hadn't really thought about that. Ron and she could possibly end up a couple. The thought was almost inconceivable; it seemed so _strange_. Of course, she had to admit to herself that she had liked Ron from the moment she'd met him. Yes, ever since she met him and Harry in that compartment, trying to do that ridiculous spell to turn Peter Pettigrew yellow, she'd liked every bit of him; from the smudge on his nose to his red hair to his freckles. Everything.

A shout wrenched her out of her reverie.

"Bloody fucking CAT!"

It was Ron. Obviously Crookshanks had done something to him. Again. How could this be? One minute, she absolutely loved him, the next, she couldn't tolerate the sound of his voice. Oh, but that wasn't true, not _really_. She was simply trying to distract herself from her feelings, because they made her feel ashamed.

There was a knock on her door just then, and she jumped.

"Hermione?"

It was Ron, flown in, apparently, from Quidditch, his hair mussed, his nose red, and his eyes looking concerned. He was beautiful.


	10. Confrontations and Emotions

A/N – Sorry for the short chapter and long wait. I'll try to be more diligent this time around. There were some things happening with my dad, and he's been away for five months; had to go to the Stanford Medical Centre to get a stem cell transplant for lymphoma. He's doing well now! If you can, donate stem cells to the International Stem Cell database; you could save a life (it saved **_his_** life! Thank you **_SO_** much to an anonymous (always during first post-year) 29-year-old woman with a friend named Bear), and it is, contrary to popular belief, just like a _blood draw_, **not** a bone marrow draw.  okay, I'll stop lecturing now. On with the chappie.

**Confrontations and Emotions**

"Hermione?" he said again, looking at her with his brow furrowed. "Did you need to be alone? I'm sorry…I'll just…go now."

He moved to close the door, but she suddenly leapt up from the bed and grabbed his arm. He froze. "What?"

He was _feigning_ nonchalance, and they both knew it.

"Hermione? What's wrong?"

She said nothing, but shut the door before he could get out again.

"Look, Ron…"

"I know. I was an idiot, and I'm sorry I snogged you last night, 'specially when you didn't invite me to. Do you forgive me?" It sounded incredibly corny and rehearsed, but nonetheless, he meant it, though he wished that she had felt the same way. _Bugger, bugger, bugger. Why was I so STUPID?_ He thought desperately, wishing he could evaporate.

"No, Ron, the question I'd wanted to ask you was if you forgave _me._"

Everything Ron felt halted in his guts at that moment. _What_?

"I was stupid, Ron, but it turned out all right, didn't it? I mean, you _do_ feel the same way, don't you?" Her eyes never left his in their quick darting, trying to probe his muddled mind.

"Hermione, are you kidding? I…I've liked you since…well, since that troll thing in the girls' WC! First year, remember?"

"Remember? How on earth could I forget?"

"So we're okay? For now, at least?"

"I think so."

Ron couldn't quite place how things progressed the way they did, but for some reason, he found himself stroking Hermione's cheek, and before he knew it, he was kissing her all over again.

_Damn! We should _not_ be doing this _in MY ROOM! _What if Mum comes in? She'll kill me, and then revive me just to kill me again!_ Still, he had to admit to himself that he couldn't resist. Incredibly, when Harry had his little interlude with Cho right before the summer holidays, they had had a moment of their own in the common room…

As he slowly let his tongue slither into her open mouth, his memory flashed back to that moment, by all accounts, the first indicator that this experience might actually occur…

_They had arrived back in the common room, Harry having delayed his stay there for some reason, though they both knew what that reason_ really_ was. They saw the way he looked at Cho, and Hermione, with her hawk-like perceptions, told Ron about the way Harry had acted when he saw Cho at the Quidditch World Cup last year (they both had a good laugh over it). _

_For some reason, Ron felt a stirring in his blood that had nothing to do with the excitement of the upcoming holidays, and everything to do with Hermione's flyaway hair, framing her face like a cloud._

_He had no control over himself, none. His kiss was insistent, and he wondered vaguely whether Snape or Malfoy had slipped something into his drink that night. He was acting mad. She would never forgive him…_

_Sure enough, her mouth jerked away from his, and she looked like she'd swallowed a lemon._

_"Ron Weasley! What the hell is wrong with you?" Her face was flushed with anger, and she looked so beautiful that he just couldn't resist shutting her up again._

_There was a creaking sound, and Harry, looking distracted and slightly dreamy, stepped through the portrait hole, Ron thanking God at that moment that he was so distant he didn't even realise that Hermione and he sprang apart._

_"This can _never_ happen again, Ron," Hermione had said in an undertone to him as Harry approached; and at that moment, his gut was flooded with shame._

_If he hadn't done what he did that night, neither of them would have realised that Harry had his first major moment._

_Hermione wouldn't have known how he felt about her._

_He wouldn't know that she felt the same, for he knew, by her eager response, that no matter how guarded she was about it, she did._

_Hermione wouldn't have tortured him all the next day by subtly making seductive gestures simply to punish him for his behaviour._

_And he wouldn't have burned to tell Harry all that night what had happened. He wouldn't feel trapped by knowing he couldn't under any circumstance do so. _

_He wouldn't feel so goddamned jealous of Harry._


	11. Fury Unleashed

**Fury Unleashed**

Ron came to himself when Hermione broke away, a look of shocked embarrassment on her face.

"Oy! Ronniekins!"

_Shit!_ It was George. Now, Ron knew, there would be hell to pay.

"You'd better hope Mum doesn't find out about this," he said with a slight snigger, "She'll have your hide, little brother. But hey, at least you're not at _her_ parents' house. That would be even scarier. Take it from me."

"What? You've gone to a girlfriend's house? Whose? When?"

"Like I'd tell you, little brother," he replied with a smirk. "I don't think I want to witness any more of this romantic interlude."

He left with a high-and-mighty swagger.

"Damn the sot," Ron turned back to Hermione, who had a blush creeping up her face. "Aw, Hermione, don't listen to him. He's always trying to cause trouble; you know that, and you've never let him get to you before."

"Well, yes, but…" she trailed off, looking away from him. "But _this _has never happened before, has it? And I must confess that it's a good deal more embarrassing than anything else he's said to me. Do you _really_ think we should do this? This"she gulped – "_snogging_" – composure again – "I mean. Don't you think you're mum'll be furious if she finds out? It's like George said. She'll have your hide, and probably mine, too."

Ron snorted. "Honestly, Hermione, have _your_ hide? No way, she loves you too much. She's always comparing me to you, in any case. Naw. She'll just get so flipping mad at _me_ that I'll be six feet under within an hour. You _will_ lay flowers on my grave if that happens, won't you?" he asked, with mock uncertainty.

Though he intended this as a joke, Hermione didn't treat it as such. Instead, she burst into tears and socked him a blow to the stomach that caught him off-guard. "_Don't even joke about that, Ron_," she hissed, avoiding his eyes again. "It's not funny and you _know_ it just as well as I do. Any of us could die, at any time, and I doubt that if you did it wouldn't be your mum who killed you."

He paled a bit at that idea, and hugged her tighter, as if assuring himself that she was still there, solid under his hands. "No," he whispered into her hair, which smelt of the greatest shampoo ever, "I won't lose you, Hermione. I won't."

"But I might lose you," she countered, murmuring the words into his strong chest. "At the marshes, remember? I almost lost you _there_. Doesn't that tell you how unpredictable death is? How short _life_ is?"

"I know that I was so scared for your life I didn't even consider my own," Ron replied, holding her face in his big hands. He kissed her cheek, then looked down at his feet, slightly ashamed of his impulse.

"And how did you expect _me_ to live without _you_? Surely you weren't so selfish as that?"

"I didn't think of it," he reiterated, as she lifted his chin to look him in the eye squarely. "I really didn't." His mouth touched her cheek, jaw bumping jaw, and again lips met, if only for a single moment.

"Ron," Hermione said a second later, "We'd best not be doing this here." She gestured around at her room. "Your mum…if she comes in, she'll think might be going on that isn't."

Indeed, Ron had been conscious the entire time that they were indeed in an unsuitable place. He hadn't said anything, though, not thinking Hermione minded, as he had no filthy intentions…not yet, anyway. His mother's presence was still influential, though; even if she hadn't shown herself, it was inevitable if he didn't go down soon, asking about dinner as he always did.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." Ron let go of her hands, the ones he'd been holding through the entire ordeal. He gave her a chaste kiss and muttered, "I'll see you downstairs; be careful of your leg, you don't want it to get an infection, do you?" and smiled slightly before heading out.

Hermione stood there, silent for a moment. Then it all hit her: she was _not _alone. He felt the same way. There was no need to worry; well, there was, actually, she amended herself. Plenty. His mother, brothers, Ginny, and most of all, Harry. Hermione still didn't know what to do about that; how would they tell him? _Could_ they tell him? _Well, it doesn't matter_, she thought. _He probably already knows._

Indeed, Harry _did_ know. He was still fuming, and made the unwise decision to confront not Ron, but _Hermione_ about it. As she was still newly-come to the idea, and was still very unsure about where their relationship would go, she was very sensitive to his tirade of anger.

"I don't see why you're so angry," she said to him as his temper subsided.

"I just can't _believe _this. You two fight so fucking _much_…I mean, what prompted _this_?" He glowered at her, eyes flaring with fire.

"Well," she began, slowly and carefully, so as not to set off another one of those sparks again, "I suppose because when we fought, we were never really angry."

"What do you mean?"

"I personally did that to see _him_ angry."

"Why?"

"Oh, Harry, he looks so…so _handsome_ when he's angry! He's all flushed and his ears are such a lovely red colour –"

" '_Lovely red colour'_? Good God, Hermione, you've gone _mad._"

Ron came back in at that moment, looking worried again. "What is it? I heard shouting. Everything all right?"

"I was just going," Harry said, shooting daggers at both of them. He left then, slamming the door behind him.

"What did he say?" Ron demanded of her, having jumped at the sound of the door slamming.

"Nothing you need to worry about," she assured him. "It's all right. He's under a lot of stress. Just let it go." She stroked his cheek. At his concerned look, she frowned and repeated, "Ron, it's _all right._ 'Dinna fash yourself' as they say in Scotland."

He laughed at her Scottish imitation, and her heart lifted to see a smile break out upon his countenance. _Such a lovely freckled face_, she thought to herself, as she covered his mouth with her own.

A/N: Okay, that's the next chappie. I gotta have some more reviews before I write more; at least five. Come on, I _live_ for them! ;)


	12. Unanswered Questions

Unanswered Questions

"Come on, let's go down to dinner, or you and I both know Mum will get suspicious."

"Yeah," she replied. "What's she making?"

"Pot roast," he answered.

She followed him out of the room, and he let go of her hand. "We don't want Mum finding out," he explained in an undertone as they came nearer the first floor landing. "You remember what George said."

Her hand felt oddly empty without his in it, but she knew the value of discretion.

"Where have you been all day, Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley demanded of her as the two of them came in.

"Doing homework," she answered smoothly.

"Have you done _your_ homework, Ron?"

"Erm…" he shot a look at Hermione.

"You'd better get a move on, especially as you got such few O.W.L.s. If you don't start studying more, you'll never work for the Ministry or even get a decent job."

Ron avoided pointing out that Fred and George had managed to get a decent business on its feet with only three O.W.L.s apiece, because his mother did _not_ look like she was in the mood for argument. _Damn,_ he thought, _why does Hermione have to get my mother going off on _that? He shot her a look to kill this time.

"Oh, all right," Hermione said with a sigh, responding to the unspoken message, "I'll help you."

He smiled, a bit foolishly, Hermione had to admit.

_It'll give us an excuse to be alone,_ he thought, his face lighting up. Harry must have noticed, because he scowled at him. Ron pretended he hadn't seen.

"That's very kind of you, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said approvingly.

"May I be _excused_?" Harry asked with a note of sullenness Mrs. Weasley didn't catch.

"Of course, dear. Hard day?"

"Yes," he replied shortly, before turning his back coldly on Ron and Hermione, taking his dishes to the sink, and rinsing them before setting them aside for Mrs. Weasley to wash later. He stalked out of the room without a backward glance at anybody.

Ron looked at Hermione in complete exasperation. His eyes held a look that said, _don't bother him right now._

It was undoubtedly a shock for him, and Hermione didn't begrudge him his jealousy. Still, it wasn't going to help the situation in any way.

A hand clutched hers under the table; Ron's, warm and solid around her own.

"He'll come round," he assured her, his voice soft enough to avoid anyone's ear but her own. We should probably tread carefully for a while. He's had a hard time of it. Not," he added, seeing her downcast expression, "That I intend to avoid _you._" She could have sworn he winked at her.

"All right," she said loudly, "If you haven't started on your homework, Ron, you'd better start it now."

"No, Ron, the Heartshead potion requires ginger root, not hellebore," Hermione said in a slightly frustrated tone.

"Oh. Sorry," he muttered, scratching it out and writing _ginger root_ instead. "So. That's done." He squeezed her hand suggestively.

"No, Ron, not _here,_" she said anxiously, eyes darting to and fro as though expecting an invasion. "_Your mother_ is downstairs. She'd hear, you know she would. Now is _not_ the time."

He let out a groan of frustration. If now wasn't the time for a snog, when _was_ a good time? _Girls._

"It's so stuffy in here." Hermione stretched. "Mind if I open a window?"

It was an excuse, and they both knew it. An excuse to get away from the uncomfortable moment, to prolong the uncomfortable silence, but still, to avoid it.

She pushed up the sash of the window, and a delightful breeze blew in, tossing her hair out behind her. Ron stared a bit, admiring her profile. She looked…there was only one way to say it…majestic.

Hermione turned and walked back, Ron quickly averting his glance.

"So, what next?"

"Transfiguration."

Ugh. Back to homework; the distraction was gone. _And we won't be snogging at all_, Ron thought miserably. Hermione was so frustrating sometimes. But then again, she probably thought the same of him.

Ginny sat in her room, miserably glaring out at the beaming sunshine. What right had the day to be so sunny? It certainly didn't match her _own_ mood.

It was Harry. What was wrong with him lately? He'd been so _angry._ And yesterday he'd been so amiable. What prompted his major mood swing?

She couldn't fathom the inner workings of his mind, and she knew that. Still, it remained such a curiosity to her that she got up and strode to her door, deliberating momentarily if she really should talk to him, or whether he was better left alone. Determination overcame her, however, and she swung open the door with such force that she didn't even have to pull it shut; it simply slammed behind her.

She bumped into him outside, after she'd checked Ron's room and found only Ron and Hermione studying, Ron complaining all the while, as usual. He was staring out over the lake, arms crossed, and eyes unseeing.

Ginny came up behind him, and he flinched when she put a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, Harry? You haven't been…right…lately."

He didn't look at her. "Ginny, I think I need to be alone at the moment."

"You've been alone practically all yesterday and today," she pointed out. "Is it him? Is he –?"

"No, it's not Voldemort," He sighed and turned slowly to face her. "To be honest, it's…Ron. And Hermione."

"Yes, I've seen you looking daggers at each other since yesterday. Didn't you and Hermione have a fight or something? I dunno, it's just usually Ron who rows with her."

Harry felt a bit of colour rise in his cheeks. "Yeah," he said, looking at the ground, and suddenly ashamed of himself. "We did."

"Over what?"

"I really don't want to talk about it, Gin," he sighed again. _No,_ he thought, _I don't want to admit to myself how much of a sot I've been lately. Least of all to you. What would you think of me?_ "It's a bit…personal."

Ginny thought best just to leave him at that point.


	13. Second Thoughts and Deliberations

For about ten minutes after Ginny left, Harry hardly moved a muscle. What was happening to him? His scar was hurting more than he could ever _hope_ to explain, he was irritable, nay, _angry_, beyond reason, and he had a sudden yearning to be alone. Was Voldemort possessing him again? Should he write Dumbledore? After the story the headmaster had told him a month or so ago, he was much more, if not completely, confident in him.

Still, there was no evidence to say that Voldemort was once again making an attempt like last year. He wasn't having funny dreams; no hallucinations; and no fits. It was nothing. Dumbledore had so much to be worried about right now, especially the Ministry of Magic job. Though, to no one's surprise, he declined the job yet again, Amelia Bones was only a temporary substitute for one, and no permanent one had yet been selected.

He sat down on the grass, head in his hands. _No,_ he thought to himself, _there's nothing to worry Dumbledore about. Yet._

"Well, that's that, then," Ron said, throwing his quill down for the final time.

"Let me see," Hermione said, in her _I'm-not-entirely-sure-I-believe-you_ voice. She marked a few places, and Ron groaned inwardly. _Great. I work my __arse off for three hours, and she _still _finds things I haven't done right!_

"Make these corrections; then you _are_ done," she said, seemingly reading his mind as she handed the Astronomy diagram back to him.

He did so, however carelessly, trying to ignore the tsk-ing Hermione made.

"So. What do we do now?" he asked, looking up at her hopefully.

She seemed to know exactly where he was going, and quashed these notions promptly with a searing look.

"Ron," she said, "I…I think I'm having second thoughts."

"What? _Again_?" _Jesus, _he thought, frustrated. _How many "second thoughts" is she going to have? Are all girls like this?_

"I couldn't stop thinking about it last night," she continued, looking anywhere but in his eyes. "I don't think I want to…do this. Look at everything that will be lost at it."

"What? What'll be lost?" There were, after all, only things to be _gained_ in his opinion.

"Think, Ron! If _anyone_ finds out, which you _know they will_, things will never be the same."

"And what's so wrong with that?"

"Ron, I'm talking about the _negative_ consequences. I'll never be allowed to stay at The Burrow for the summer anymore, because people won't _trust_ us. Remember what happened in fourth year? Your mum hated me for a while, just because of some stupid article Rita Skeeter wrote. Imagine if she knew I was actually a girlfriend, and to _you!_"

_That_ was something Ron hadn't considered. "Hermione, she won't think that about you. She positively _loves_ you!"

"But some parents wouldn't even let me stay the summer at your house, even if we _were_ only friends! Don't you see, Ron? At our age, most people don't trust us with the opposite sex! And if this comes between that fragile trust I have with your family, Ron, I just couldn't stand it!"

She was really in tears now. _Think, you bloke._

"Yes, Hermione, _most_ parents wouldn't let us live under the same roof overnight," he said, trying to be soothing, but uncomfortably aware of what this conversation was really about. "But you already said it: my mother _isn't most people_. 'Even if' and 'if this happens'…Hermione, that's all you're thinking about! The _What ifs_. Now I'll say one. What if everything works out? What if we abandon this and it really _was_ something, and we lose that? What would happen then?"

Hermione still had tearstains on her face, was still trying shamefacedly to hide it, but there was no water in her eyes now. "Ron, that was three."

"Who gives a damn?" he smiled at her, and was rewarded with a small one of hers. _If you don't kiss her now, she'll start crying again, and you'll know exactly what Harry was talking about when he called kissing Cho "wet."_ He didn't give himself any more time to think.

Their kiss was not what it had been before. Once desperate, once gentle, this one was fierce and demanding: Demanding to know feelings _were_ really returned, demanding subconscious power over each other, fiercely trying to hold on to the illusion that no one really _would_ find out.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said, after they had held each other awhile. "Don't you think we ought to take this risk? We can't be thinking about other people all the time, you know. We have to think about ourselves once in awhile, too."

"I hate to admit it," she said, a smile playing around her mouth, "but I guess, at least this time, you're right."

She snuggled up close to him (they were now sitting on the floor) and laid her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms about her waist, revelling in the feel of her against his chest. Hermione's hair tickled Ron's nose a bit, but he simply didn't want to move.


	14. A Haunting Dream

_Harry was in a fog, a green fog. He tried to cry out, but was met with only a cold, high laugh; a laugh he knew all too well._

_As suddenly as it had appeared, the fog was gone. Confused, he looked about himself, but he could see nothing but a sinking grey, which only served to frighten him further. He was surrounded by it. _

_Then the screaming started. His mother. It was his mother, screaming in terror the same way she did when Dementors were near him. The screaming turned higher, and with a lurch in his stomach, he realised it was no longer _her_ screaming, but Hermione._

_"Hermione, NO!" he cried out, but the screaming continued, echoing in his head, haunting and terrifying at the same time. _

He awoke suddenly, soaked in chilly sweat, shaking all over. Ron was bending over him.

"Harry? Harry, are you all right?"

"Ron," he said slowly, "I think it might be time to owl Dumbledore."

"Harry," Ron said slowly, "What's happened?"

How could Ron be so stupid? Still, Harry tried to be patient, fighting the fog of sleep that threatened to engulf him again. "I had another one of those dreams, Ron," he said, falling back and closing his eyes again.

"I thought so, you were screaming again. What is it? What's gonna happen?"

"I – " he said slowly, "Ron, I think Hermione's going to get hurt. By him."

Ron went very pale.

When morning broke through the curtains of Ginny's room, Hermione awoke immediately, remembering instantly why she felt so happy. She glanced over at Ginny's sleeping form, then, as silently as she could manage, she crept out of bed and down the stairs, wanting time just to mull things over and revel in her own bliss.

"You're up early, dear," Mrs. Weasley's voice made her jump slightly. Turning on the lights, she saw Mrs. Weasley seated calmly at the kitchen table.

"I'm sorry," she said, "You just scared me a bit."

"Couldn't sleep either?" Mrs. Weasley asked, sipping at a cup of tea.

"No, I just went to bed early last night."

"Cup of tea?" Mrs. Weasley was already reaching for the teapot. "Just get a cup from over there."

"Well, thanks," Hermione said, getting a mug and sitting opposite Mrs. Weasley, who poured it almost to the top.

"I want to say," Mrs. Weasley began, and Hermione stiffened, "Thanks for helping Ron with his homework. He struggles with procrastination and things; always has."

"Yeah," Hermione smiled slightly, "I've noticed." So relieved was she that she hadn't been asked an uncomfortable question that she sipped too much from her tea and managed to scald her tongue. Cursing her clumsiness, she got up and grabbed an ice cube from the tray.

"What time is it, anyway?" she asked, coming back to the table and sitting down again, sucking on the ice cube.

"About seven," Mrs. Weasley replied. "Arthur already went off to work. Emergency in his department, thank God, nothing to do with You-Know-Who." Her look, however, suggested that she doubted her own statement, but wanted to believe it nonetheless.

"You look happy," Molly commented casually. "What happened?"  
"Oh, it's just…erm…" Hermione faltered a bit, then said, "I got an owl from my mum. She and Dad got a bigger dentist's office; they've wanted a new one for awhile now, patients have been piling up." She had, in fact, received a letter delivering that news, but that had been a week ago.

"Oh, that's nice," Mrs. Weasley said, feigning interest.

"Yeah."

There was silence for a few minutes; after about five, Fred came in, whistling.

"How'd you get in?" Mrs. Weasley demanded of him, rising as if for a battle of the wills.

"Oh, Mum," Fred whined, "I _Apparated!_ Surely you haven't _forgotten _that I could!"

"Oh. Well, why're you here?"

"To check up on my _dear_ brother. He's not up yet?"

"No, he's not."

"Lazy git," Fred muttered. "Well, what're you two doing up so early? I mean, Hermione, _you're_ not usually up this early are you?"

"No, I just got to bed early," she reiterated. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"No reason."

"I'm going to go take a walk," Hermione said, "I should be back soon."

_Damn,_ Hermione thought, as she stepped out onto the frightfully cold flagstones that bordered the Weasley garden, _why couldn't I have thought to wear shoes?_

She had to admit, it had been a close call with Mrs. Weasley. If it hadn't been for the way she had reacted in fourth year with the whole Krum affair, she might have told her straight off, but thankfully she knew better. She knew mothers and sons were like fathers and daughters, at least in the way they felt possessive, but all the same, she wasn't entirely sure Mrs. Weasley's reaction would be different.

"Fancy seeing you out here," a voice whispered in her ear.

Hermione spun round to find Ron standing behind her, arms crossed, but still looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Oh," she said, "why're you out here?"

"Had to think about something with Harry. You?"

"Ron," she said, at once concerned by his seemingly-offhand mention of Harry having a problem, "What's wrong with him?"

"He's had a dream again. One about Y – I mean, Voldemort." He suppressed a shudder.

"What about?"

"Well, technically, I'm not supposed to tell you…"

"Ron. Tell."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I can't."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you can. We have to trust each other, remember?"

"Normally I would tell you. But this…just trust me, it's best that you don't know anything."

Hermione raised her brows at this statement, but pestered him no further about it. Instead, she turned her back on him. Even though he knew she was mad at him, he couldn't help but admire the way her hair blew ever so slightly in the breeze.

_Well,_ he thought, trying desperately to reason with himself, _what am I supposed to tell her? "Oh, yeah, and by the way, Harry's almost positive Voldemort's gonna hurt you"? What good will that do?_

"Look," he said, trying to reassure her, "I promise I'll tell you. Soon."

He could feel the tension in her body ease slightly, but she did not turn to look at him. _Women,_ he thought disdainfully. _I have no _hope _of ever understanding them._

"You look a bit cold," he said, trying to change the subject. _Come on, just look at me, please!_

"Maybe I am. Just a little." The edge had gone out, but her voice was still just a bit chilly.

"Why didn't you at least put something on your feet?" _okay, wrong way to go if I'm trying to get her to ease up._

"I was just a bit preoccupied, I guess. I had a conversation with your mother, you know."

Ron's blood went cold.

"Jesus, what'd she say?"

"Ron, don't curse. Please."

"Sorry. Did she totally burn you or something?" Suddenly struck with another awful idea, he said, "You didn't…_tell_ _her_ anything, did you?"

"Oh Ron, don't be ridiculous. I'm better at holding up against her than _you _are." She faced him then - _finally,_ he thought – and he smiled a bit sheepishly.

"So, what'd she ask you?"

"Oh, mostly just small talk. Thanked me for helping you with your schoolwork and stuff; as if you could hope to get by without me."

"That's not a very nice thing to say!" he said, but with a light in his eyes and a smile threatening his face all the same.

"Well, then your _brother _came down."

"Oh, dear."


End file.
